And then, impossibly, his arms were around his granddaughter – not the thought of her, the real her – and there was nothing he could do to stop the sobs from cutting through him. As he wept, he felt Sarah’s body lean over him, the warmth of her face pressing against his.
‘How?’ was all Sam could manage.
Sarah kissed him on the head and cheek before pointing to Jack.
‘Jack wrote to me. He told me everything.’
Jack stood up and, saying nothing, nodded at Sarah. Then he stepped forward and hunkered down next to Casey.
Casey grinned back at him, her arms still wrapped around Sam. ‘My grandpa,’ she said.
‘Yes. Your grandpa.’
Slowly, reluctantly, Sam manoeuvred to his feet. He looked into his daughter’s face and traced a hand across her cheek. ‘You’re really here. This is happening.’
She nodded and placed a hand over his. ‘I’m sorry it took so long.’
‘No. No … I’m the one who’s sorry.’
Overwhelmed, he turned away and looked at Jack. ‘I don’t know what to say to you.’
‘I do,’ Jack replied. ‘Promise me you’ll get the treatment.’
Sam blinked, felt his lips tremble. ‘Yes,’ he nodded, and then again. ‘Yes.’
Unable to contain himself, Sam hugged his girls again. And again.
‘You should go back to the hotel,’ Jack finally said. ‘The weather’s only getting worse.’
Sam nodded his agreement, but then frowned. ‘You’re not coming?’
Jack looked up into the rain and then slowly shook his head. ‘You guys go.’
Sam thought of trying to convince Jack to join them but decided that he would no longer second-guess his friend’s decisions. Especially not after what had just happened.
Jack held out his hand. ‘Hell of a trip, old man.’
Sam smiled, no longer able to see his friend. He pushed Jack’s hand away and embraced him. ‘Hell of a trip, Jack.’
Sam watched, still in shock, as his granddaughter sipped at her hot chocolate.
‘Are you OK, Dad?’ Sarah asked for the third time, placing a hand on his wrist.
Sam used the towel around his neck to dab at his hair. ‘I’m sorry. I just can’t believe you’re both here. I guess I’m just battling to take it all in.’
‘I wanted to come and see you so many times. I’m so sorry I never had the courage to follow through.’
Just then a waiter arrived with their coffee order. When he was gone, Sarah leaned forward in her chair. ‘I want you to know something,’ she whispered. ‘I forgave you a long time ago. I don’t know why I stayed away so long. I just don’t know. I think a part of me was ashamed at leaving you behind the way I did. For condemning you for a single moment that I know you regret. That I know wasn’t you. I’m so sorry.’
Sam was about to interject, when she held up a hand.
‘Please, Dad, let me finish. Jack sent me two letters. In the second letter he wrote that you’d never forgiven yourself for what happened between us. And so I want to stipulate the one condition I have for us becoming part of each other’s lives.’
‘Anything,’ he whispered back.
‘You have to forgive yourself. Do you hear me?’
Sam looked into his still trembling hands. ‘I’ll try.’
Sarah nodded slowly and then leaned over the table to kiss him on the cheek. ‘Will you come back to London with us? Just for a few weeks and then we’ll figure things out from there. Would you consider that?’
Sam didn’t even have to think about it. ‘Of course.’
Visibly relieved, Sarah looked down at Casey. ‘Grandpa’s coming home with us. How does that sound?’
Casey looked up from her drink, her lips smudged with chocolate. ‘Grandpa can sleep in my room.’
Sam felt a laugh rise up in his chest. ‘That sounds like a plan.’
Feeling fresh emotion pressing at the back of her eyes, Sarah tried to lighten the conversation. There would be more than enough time for serious talk in the weeks and months ahead.
‘This friend of yours, Jack, he’s quite something.’
Sam shook his head. ‘You have no idea, Sarah. I look forward to telling you all about him. He’s the best man I’ve ever known.’
She nodded, believing it. ‘I must say, I don’t quite understand why we had to meet by the bench though.’
Sam raised an eyebrow.
‘Jack’s instructions to me were very explicit. He texted me when I landed this morning, saying that we would meet at the end of the promenade whatever the weather. I’m just wondering why we couldn’t have met in here. In the hotel. Out of the rain.’
Sam, his mind still dazed, tried to consider the question.
None of the answers he came up with made any sense.
What was so important about meeting out there?
What was Jack waiting for?
Why couldn’t they have met indoors?
He had known how bad the weather was long before he had sent Sarah his final message.
Why did—
And then, all at once, he understood why.
‘Stay here,’ he managed, hurrying up from the table and running for the door.
Fifty-seven
Sam shouldered his way past a young couple who were standing in front of the door that led out onto the promenade.
‘Hey!’ an annoyed voice called out at him.
But Sam was through the door and out into the rain before the man could even turn around to confront him.
It had been at least thirty years since Sam last ran for anything. His arms and legs burnt with each stride. The end of the promenade was barely two hundred yards away, but it felt much further than that. He knew that if he lost his footing, the resultant fall would almost certainly break some bones. Not that he cared.
As he neared the bench, gasping for breath, he saw that Jack was no longer sitting there.
‘Shit … shit,’ he said, dread rushing through him.
Hurrying on, he skipped down a series of slippery wooden stairs. He looked through the haze of mist and rain but could see nobody on the beach. And then, looking down at the sand, he saw what appeared to be clothes strewn in intervals leading to the water’s edge.
A rain jacket.
A shirt.
Shoes.
Running hard, he kept going, charging into the waves. Gasping at how cold it was, he cupped his hands over his eyes and stared out across the churning water. At first he could see nothing of Jack, but then he caught sight of a vague figure striding out ahead of him.
‘Jack!’ he screamed, the wind sapping the strength from his words. He waded forward and tried again, louder this time. ‘Jack! Please, Jack!’
But Jack kept going.
Scrambling for purchase in the soft sand, Sam used his arms to pull himself forward in the water. He leaned back, filled his lungs with as much air as they could bear, and reached for one last cry. ‘JAACCCK!’
This time Jack stopped and turned around.
Seizing the moment, Sam continued deeper into the water until they were barely thirty yards apart. The choppy sea was up to Sam’s chest now but Jack was standing, waist-deep, on a sandbank ahead of him.
‘What are you doing, Jack?’
For a moment Jack said nothing. Then he held up his hands. ‘I tried to get a boat.’
‘What are you talking about?’
Jack shook his head and then pointed out into the ocean. ‘I had to get to Robben Island today.’
‘Why?’
‘Today’s the day, Sam.’
‘What’s so special about today, Jack? What are you talking about?’
Jack looked towards the dull outline of Robben Island in the distance. He seemed to be considering whether or not to reply. ‘We got married on Robben Island. When Grace got sick, I took her back there. She knew she was dying and was worried that I wouldn’t want to live on without her. She was right about that. So she made me
promise … made me give her my word … that I would come back to the island on our tenth wedding anniversary.’ He raised his hands to his head, his voice breaking up. ‘That’s today, Sam.’
Sam suddenly felt sick. ‘Jesus, Jack. No. Don’t do this. Please.’
‘I’m sorry, Sam. You have Sarah and Casey now. This is how it’s supposed to be.’
‘Jack. For God’s sake … don’t do this. You’ll never make the swim,’ he insisted, grasping for the words that would keep his friend from ending his life. ‘We’ll find a boat to take you there. I’ll come with you. I swear to God, Jack. We’ll do this together. Today.’
Jack looked out over the ocean and shook his head. ‘There aren’t any boats, Sam. It doesn’t matter anyway.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because,’ he replied, shrugging. ‘Don’t you understand? I was never coming back from the island.’
‘What?’
‘I promised her I’d return for our anniversary,’ he said, his lips pulling tight. ‘I never promised to carry on, after that.’
Sam felt his stomach clench. ‘She wanted you to live, Jack. That was the whole point of getting you to come back. Please, stop this. Think about—’
‘What? What should I think about, Sam? How about what I want? What about that?’
‘There are other reasons to carry on,’ Sam offered but knew at once how anaemic his words sounded.
For a long moment Jack stared at him. ‘I’m already gone, Sam. Go back. Go home to your family. And I’ll go to mine.’
Sam felt the hope slip from his voice. ‘Jack …’
‘I’ll see you, Sam,’ he said, and then slowly turned away.
Unable to watch, knowing that he had lost him, Sam squeezed his eyes shut.
Through the cry of the storm, he listened as Jack’s body cut through the waves.
Until finally there was nothing left to hear but the sea and the rain.
Fifty-eight
Struggling for breath, Elizabeth placed her hands on her knees and looked down at Pilot. ‘We’re almost there,’ she huffed, reassuring the tired Labrador. She then turned her gaze to the top of the hill, her eyes drifting over mounds of land that, remarkably, were still so familiar to her. How could she remember so much of this place? She couldn’t have been more than twelve years old the last time she’d set foot on the hill. It just didn’t make any sense to her. Scanning the remaining hundred yards or so, she noticed a cluster of rocks ahead of her and – almost at once – another memory pinged to life. She and her father had picnicked up there every now and then. She blinked and could imagine him kneeling on a blanket, unlatching his old army bag.
‘Watermelon,’ she whispered. ‘There was always watermelon.’
Feeling her spirits rise, she ran a hand down Pilot’s back. ‘C’mon, let’s get up there.’
A few minutes later she stepped onto the uppermost rock – the stone cluster arranged like giant scoops of ice cream – and sat down. Pilot moved in beside her, his tongue lolling bright and red out the side of his mouth. She poured some water into her hand and smiled as his tongue tickled her fingers.
Looking down at the farmhouse as the afternoon sun reflected off its freshly painted roof, Elizabeth felt a wave of emotion surge through her. Just as it had when she was a girl, the house looked so different from up here – like a doll’s house or some sort of elaborate cake decoration.
She was still trying to catch her breath when her phone vibrated to life. She reached into her denims, surprised that there was coverage on the hill, and smiled when she saw who it was.
‘Sam. How’re you doing?’
‘He left a bag n— next— the bench, Lizzie,’ came the fragmented voice through the phone.
‘Sam? You’re breaking up. What was that?’
‘There was an urn … B— But not for her ashes. No … There was— gun— Wrapped in a cloth— He was planning to shoot—’
‘Sam … I don’t understand. Say again. What’s going on?’
‘— left him out t— there. Alone— so stupid. And he just— into the w— ater— Swam—’
Elizabeth stood up, could feel pins and needles in her hands. ‘Sam, you’re scaring me.’
There was a moment’s silence and when he spoke again, she could hear that he was in tears. ‘Coastguard’s looking— him, Lizzie. B— But— too late. I know – he’s gone. Gone.’
‘What do you mean he’s gone? Sam? What are you talking about?’
‘Jack’s de— de—’
‘Jack’s what, Sam? What?’
‘Jack’s dead, L— zzie.’
Elizabeth began to shout into the phone. ‘Sam! You’re not making any sense! Jack can’t be dead. That’s impossible. What the hell’s going on?’
‘— orry.’
‘Sam?’
‘— o sorry, Lizz—’
And then he was gone, the connection lost.
Elizabeth stared down into the phone, unable to draw breath.
Jack couldn’t be gone. What was Sam talking about? A gun? Jack didn’t own a gun?
And water, what water did he go out into?
Pressing her fingers to the screen, her whole body shook as she waited for the call to connect.
Please God, it wasn’t true. Please.
Jack couldn’t be gone.
Fifty-nine
The pain in Ezra Fall’s back was only getting worse. Exacerbated by both the inclement weather and the fact that he was only weeks away from turning sixty-seven, he was beginning to wonder how much longer he could do his job. Compacted lower vertebrae was the fancy term his doctor had used. Too many years on his feet was the plain truth of it.
Not that he had much of a choice. Being one of only two breadwinners in a family of nine, and with unemployment being what it was, he would have to keep going for as long as he could. Which, really, was fine by him because, despite the pain, he loved his job. Felt honoured to do what he did, however menial other people might have considered his work. To him, he was exalted by his daily duties. Which is why he had been taking an increasing number of painkillers to mask his discomfort. He didn’t want his superiors to see that he was struggling. As it was they had allowed him to work beyond the mandatory retirement age.
He had just fetched his old grass broom and was about to sweep away the wet leaves that had blown into the corridor when he received a message on his phone. Though the screen was cracked in one corner and spiderwebbed with scratches, the message was clear enough.
His youngest son’s school shoes had been stolen while he was playing football with his friends.
Leaning on the broom, Ezra sighed and shook his head. There wasn’t money for new school shoes. There was barely money for food.
That settled it, then. He would have to sell his father’s record player. He had been facing up to the fact for weeks already and now the moment was finally upon him. There was no getting away from it: it would have to go.
Resigned, he looked down at his phone and typed his reply.
Don’t be angry with him, Olivia. I will get him some shoes. Tell him it is all right. I know how he worries. See you all tomorrow.
He waited for the message to clear the screen before slipping the phone back into his overalls.
Trying to ignore the throbbing that had now spread to his kidneys, he swept away the leaves ahead of him and then set about mopping up a large pool of rainwater that had accumulated at the end of the corridor.
When he was done, he looked up and tried to stretch out his back. As he lifted his head, he could make out the familiar livery of the coastguard’s main recovery boat out on the water. Some poor vessel, probably a fishing trawler, must have run into trouble.
Not surprising, given the conditions out there.
Looking down at his watch, he saw that it was almost 8 p.m. What little light the sun still had left to give would be gone within half an hour, making a rescue in the dark that much more treacherous for all concerned. Lowering his chin t
o his chest, he whispered a quick prayer for those in peril.
Afterwards, he scanned the water once more and, despite his money troubles, was again lifted by his duties.
Yes, he was on minimum wage.
Yes, he was just a cleaner.
But he was a cleaner on Robben Island. An island that had become a symbol of hope for millions across the world.
He took a breath and looked out over the tail end of the island.
His eyes floated over curves of land and silhouettes of rock that were as familiar to him as the faces of his own children.
And that was when he saw it.
The pale figure of a shirtless man, sitting on a bench near the water’s edge.
Sixty
‘Mister,’ Ezra called out again, as he climbed down the rocks.
The man had clearly heard him, but had chosen not to reply. Instead he remained perfectly still, staring out over the sea.
Cradling the blanket in one arm, Ezra nearly lost his balance and had to drop down to his haunches. Riding out a fresh wave of pain, he steadied himself and then continued towards the stone bench.
Wary of the stranger, Ezra shifted his position so that he could see the man’s face. ‘Mister?’
Jack’s head turned towards him, but his eyes remained focused on the water.
Instinctively aware that the man – close to his own age – was of little threat to him, Ezra stepped forward and wrapped the blanket around his shoulders.
Mercifully, the rain had eased to a faint drizzle.
Ezra knelt down and waved a hand in Jack’s face. ‘Can you hear me?’
The movement of Ezra’s hand seemed to break Jack’s trance.
‘I’m sorry,’ was all Jack could say. His throat was dry and cracked from all the salt water.
Ezra dipped a hand into the front pouch of his overalls and pulled out a small thermos. He quickly poured some of its contents into a cup and handed it to Jack. ‘It’s not very hot, but it’ll help.’
Jack looked down at the cup and then took hold of it. Shivering, he lifted it to his lips and drank slowly.
The Last Road Trip Page 17